


If I Never Get Back

by assorted_L



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baseball, F/M, One direction AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assorted_L/pseuds/assorted_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall’s an up-and-coming pitcher with a shoulder that’s only slightly less trouble than his attraction to his trainer.<br/>“Terse, slightly awkward, and oozing masculinity. It got me right in the ovaries.” -Reader  (That's right, a fucking testimonial!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Never Get Back

Niall’s got laser-focus, twisting the tar-coated ball in his fingers again, the laces automatically taking up the perfect position. He waits. Tomlinson finally hangs his forefinger and his thumb down between his knees, and Niall nods. It wasn’t what the coach wanted, but there was a thing, in his gut. And Niall tended not to ignore his  _things._

The ball now rested inside his well-worn glove as he took to the center of the mound, swiping at the dirt with the toe of his cleat, and he pulled the brim of his hat up, and quickly back down over his over-grown mess of hair; a silly habit that eventually turned into superstition; one of many.  Niall was surprised he hadn’t yet begun to bald, the number of times he’s tucked and retucked that cap over the years.

The batter twists the bat in his hands, and despite the overwhelming noise from the crowd around him, he swears he can hear the grit of the black tape wrapped around it crinkling in the guy’s meaty hands. He is so big and well, strange looking; Niall thinks he might have missed out on the last evolutionary push; the way his eyebrows slunk at the end of his forehead, and his arms seemed to hang down past his knees. Number twenty-five could just as easily be swinging one of those poorly-carved wooden clubs that ancient humans used to chase down wildebeest instead of holding that bat just now, and in fact, that may or may not be what Niall was picturing as he took his breath and pushed it through his teeth slowly, winding up.

Flicking his three fingers over the seam in the ball as he pulled back, he blinked, his mind clear except for one word:  _strike._ His arm rocketed over his shoulder and sent the pitch toward the plate, the caveman man misreading just as Niall had hoped. _Change-up, motherfucker,_ he thought with a smile. Coach’s face was the same as it always was- gruff and cold, but Niall thinks he detected a nod, the tiniest of nods from him. He knew he had made the right call with that pitch.

Tomlinson pulled off his helmet and jogged up to the mound, a television break providing them with twenty or so seconds of time to discuss the next batter, a righty. Niall’s a southpaw, but he’s on fucking fire, so when he sees Coach climb the three steps from the dugout he shakes his head in protest. “I’ve got this.” He mouths. Tomlinson’s got his glove over his lips, poised to have this conversation that Niall doesn’t really think needs to happen. He can strike this guy out just like the last one. And the one before that.

“Bringin’ in Styles to close ‘er.” Coach says, not bothering to cover his mouth, and instead using his hand to place a swat to Niall’s backside, which to everyone else looked like a  _Good job, Horan_ when in actuality it meant  _This isn’t up for discussion_.

Tomlinson went back to his little divot behind the plate, and Niall trudged off the field, not even looking Styles in the eye as he passed. The noise of the crowd, of course, was now all for his benefit, and not Niall’s. Harry got to walk in there and take credit for a game he didn’t pitch, throwing the last few balls and clinching the win. Niall knew all that crap about  _teamwork_  but as he tugged his mitt from his sweaty hand and tossed it to the bench, he couldn’t bring himself to turn and watch.

“Shoulder looked good out there.” She said from behind him. “You didn’t seem to favor it.”

Niall has a hot wad of spit waiting just in his cheek, but he swallows it back because he remembered she once said that was her least favorite part about this job-the spitting. He tries not to think about it, otherwise he knows he’ll end up retching.

“Feels good.” He said, his spine relaxing and his head lifting just in time to watch Styles lob one over the plate, but the ump calls it a ball and Coach shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, thinking just like the rest of us that it was probably a bad call, but the batter’s got a small strike zone, so it’s tough to say.  Malik swishes his wad of tobacco to the other side of his mouth and lets loose the brownest, grittiest, nastiest load of saliva, and it hits the dirt with a sound sort of like  _thud_ , but wet. Niall turns to see Jenna shudder, and he can’t hold back a chuckle.

She straddles the bench next to him. It was amusing to Niall that on game days she looked exactly like the photo on her laminated ID badge that she wore on a lanyard around her neck; in her league-issued polo shirt and tight athletic pants, her brown hair just as it always is, tied into a low ponytail and pulled over her shoulder. She tosses her binder to the ground before placing her hand at the spot that’d been giving him the most trouble, the joint just at the top of his shoulder. “May I?” she says, as if he’d ever deny her the opportunity to place her hands upon him. Of course, Niall just nods. She lifts upwards at his elbow and rotates the offending bones, or what’s left of them, backwards and front, pleased when there’s no audible popping or even clicking for that matter.

Jenna liked the way his head rocked back and forth when she worked him, his eyes falling shut. It was a weird feeling, knowing you could cause someone so much pain, and yet ultimately bring them relief. Niall’s biggest problem was the way he tensed up in big moments, like throwing an important pitch, or even more so when he was at-bat. Despite his breathing routine, you could almost see the way he clenched up, shoulders tight, knees locked. Well, maybe she was the only one that could see it. But she was sure of it.  He is Mister Major Leagues, though, and she is just a trainer, so she was still navigating how to get him to take her advice without him blowing her off like she thought he might. So, she just keeps trying to prove her expertise, but not so much with her words as with her hands.

The woman is a wizard, or a psychic maybe. Either way, all he knows is that she works magic on his body, often stretching him in until he cried, face-down in the outfield, and working her fingers against the angry knots that cropped up beneath his shoulder blades, amongst other things.

And oh, he thought she might be a witch too, because he found himself _unreasonably_  attracted to her. In fact, just this morning he caught himself thinking about her as he made his usual game-day breakfast: three eggs over-easy, two slices of whole-wheat toast with grape jam, four sausage patties, a bowl of Captain Crunch and an orange Gatorade. He thought of her then because once she had told him as she pushed his leg up over his head, her palms flat against the backs of his calves as she leaned into the stretch, and between directives to “breathe through it”, that she sometimes crushed up his favored cereal and dredged her French toast in it.

It was then that he vowed to watch her make it sometime soon, preferably in the morning, and preferably after she’d spent the night.

Fucking Styles threw a hot one, strike two. He was so long and lanky, his mess of curls barely tamed by his cap, which was pristine white as compared to Niall’s whose was already stained brown at the brim. He made a small noise at the back of his throat, and he didn’t mean for Jenna to hear it. But she did, and stopped her assessment of his bastard of a shoulder long enough to mutter “Could have left you out there, I think.”

“Should have.” He spat, instantly regretting his tone and hoping that she realized that comment wasn’t meant for her, but the crotchety coach who was looking on as his golden boy soaked up every goddamned moment on the mound.

“Should have.” She said softly, removing her hands from him, but instead of just lifting away, she let her fingertips slide down the length of his arm, of his  _million dollar arm,_  and back into her lap. She shouldn’t have done that, at least not here, in the dugout with all of the guys around. She was reasonably sure that Niall knew she had it for him. Probably didn’t realize how badly she did, but he knew. She hadn’t worked out yet if he was feeling it too; perhaps all of those extra sessions he booked, and the fact that he brought her embarrassingly complicated coffee order, unrequested, on two separate mornings were just because he one- cared about taking care of his body, and would do everything he could to prevent being benched over some stupid injury, like he was late last season, and two- was just a nice guy. Like, a really nice guy.

A suspiciously nice guy; especially for an athlete, most of which often had egos bigger than the parks they played in.

It  _was_ only the first game of the season, and there would be plenty more pitches ahead of him, plenty of chances to prove his worth. Shit, maybe he’d even throw his first no-hitter. That is, if the umps get their shit together enough to call the balls how they land instead of how they’re seeing them. But still, with the sell-out crowd and the perfectly clean slate, he wanted to be the guy out there under the lights. Right now.

A hush fell over the stands, and he knew Harry was lining it up right now, giving the final nod to the catcher, and dipping his chin low. Jenna was watching. So he just watched her, her lip trapped between her teeth. She sucked in a tiny breath at the point which Niall assumed Styles threw the ball, and pushed it out into a grin as the stadium shook, strike three.  Now, Niall wasn’t typically  _unsportsmanlike_  but the way her face lit up just then sealed the deal. He peeled his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair, ducking into the doorway and down the hallway toward the locker room instead of out onto the field to shake hands and slap asses and mumble  _good game._  

Her urge was to take off after him, after all, she pretty well knew why he was pissed off. But what would she even say? What meaning would it hold? So, when she gathered up her materials and headed down the fluorescent hallway, it was only because she needed to finish up some work in her office before she could head home. Not at all because she wanted to make sure he was all right.

 Because that wouldn’t be her place.

She can hear the metal doors slamming from behind the partition- which was recently changed from a window to a frosted pane of glass. These little adjustments were necessary when a female was hired on; all of them for her  _comfort_  she knew, because these guys gave approximately two shits about who saw them in the buff.  She didn’t really care that much either, but she got her own private bathroom out of the deal and no one really seemed to be put-out.

It was a win-win.

Except for the fact that now she was standing over her desk and she could hear Niall out there, but she couldn’t see him.  Soon he blew past her open doorway, feet heavy against the textured concrete. He was dressed, not even bothering with a shower.

Niall halted, reversing his steps three times until he was standing in her doorway, and he pulled the strap of his duffle bag across his chest. She looked up from her notebook. What did she even write in there anyway? “I…um…I’m gonna come in early tomorrow…if you don’t mind.” He rotated his shoulder around, backwards and front, a tiny wince across his face at the exact point she anticipated it.

“Of course.” She said. “I’ll be here at eight.” He probably had a long night ahead of him, rented-out VIP rooms at one of the city’s hottest, or maybe he even had a date. Surely in either of those cases he’d be up most of the night. She swallowed at the thought of it.

“Not that early.” He chuckled.

“I know.” She said, and she did.

—

The next day, he showed up at nine fifteen, his hair soft and untouched after his morning shower. She thought he looked well-rested.

“You look well-rested.” She said, throwing it out there probably to try to glean from his reply what his evening had looked like. Hers had looked like making a plate of spaghetti for dinner and going for a long run- not the wisest combination, and ultimately ended with her falling asleep on the couch while Sportscenter looped all of the highlights of Opening Day. Typical, really.

“Yeah.” He replied. “I took an Ambien.” He hesitated in even saying it, because he knew how she felt about those sorts of things. But for him the alternative would have been unwinding with a bottle of Jack, and ol’ Jackie’s affects lingered a lot longer than that little pink pill.

In any case, she didn’t make a comment, or even move her face toward disappointment. She genuinely let it slide.

Off his shirt came, and he draped it over the chair before hopping up on the cold metal table. Every other trainer he’d ever worked with always started the session with a series of questions. Jenna just went straight to work, as if all of the answers would come from watching the way he moved, feeling the stretch of his muscles and tendons beneath his skin, listening to the way his breathing slowed when she was pushing him to his limit. Her hands were warm against his skin, and he noticed her nail polish had chipped away from her thumb since yesterday and he wondered if it was a bad habit of hers. Maybe she picked at it absentmindedly as she sat in traffic.

There he was thinking about her nail polish. Witchy woman.

Two colors of kinesio tape today- baby blue and black, which she layered over his skin in a strange pattern that reminded him of a keyhole; one thick strip of black extending from his neck to his elbow, and the blue forming a circle over the crest of his shoulder, the clicky creaky joint right in the center.

“We’re going to work outside today.” She said, nabbing her sunglasses from her desk. Niall slid off the table and made to haul his shirt back over his head, but she held it back just as he pushed his hands through the armholes. “No…I…I need to _see._ ” She said, which of course she meant as she needed to watch his movements unimpeded by white cotton, but Niall’s brain and his crotch decided to take the words to mean something else, at least for a second or two.

Throwing a few easy pitches, one after another, against the net strung across the bullpen, he tried not to pay attention to her as she observed him, walking around to different vantage points every few throws, even crouching down behind him at one point.

The view wasn’t half bad, she thought. At all bad, really. She probably only really needed to see a dozen or so pitches to know what she needed to work on, but she let him keep throwing, because she loved the way his torso looked when he let the ball go and followed through with his arm. It looked strong, and long, and surprisingly tan given his fair complexion; The sun of the spring training stint having been kind to him.

She really ought not to be taking advantage.

“How’s it looking?” he asked, and her head snapped up. Niall smirked internally when he realized she had to think for a moment about what he meant by that, which in turn meant that she’d been  _looking._ What he wouldn’t give to have her out here in this same spot, or maybe even for the opportunity to take a jog with her around his subdivision. He knew she was a runner, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t once gotten into his car and driven to her neighborhood in hopes that he’d discover her route. He wondered if she wore that ponytail higher when she ran, and it if it swung back and forth, dusting between her tanned shoulder blades. He wondered what those shoulder blades would look like with a layer of sweat glistening atop them. From running or otherwise.

Mostly otherwise.

“Pretty good.” She finally replied. “But lift your leg a little higher, it’ll move your center of gravity up so that you don’t have to overcompensate in your windup.” She waited for him to scoff at her observation, but instead he drew the ball backward and lifted his leg as she had suggested.

“That does feel better.” He said, fishing another dusty ball from the basket and tucking it into his glove. “You my pitching coach now?”

“You’re giving me too much credit.” She said, shaking her head.

“Am not.” He said, whipping a fastball into the net.

The outfield was all set-up, the batting machines loaded and powered on, a makeshift plate set into the grass at the perfect distance. She handed him a helmet, and a pair of gloves, which he pulled on as he continued to babble on about the plot of some movie, and he willed himself to shut the fuck up but he just couldn’t. He plucked a bat from the rack and shuffled over to the plate, widening his stance.

Jenna pressed the green button on the machine and listened as a ball dropped into the hopper and the arm rotated, scooping it up and flinging it toward Niall, who didn’t bother to swing. Since he was the pitcher, he probably got the most batting practice of anyone, a weak link in the lineup. His only saving grace was that he bats like he throws- lefty, and actually, his average was pretty decent compared to pitchers league-wide.

“Ya gotta swing, Horan.” She called from the side.

“Bossy.” He muttered, loud enough for her to hear, and brought the bat behind his head, letting it lay loose in his grip until the machine fired, and bringing it forward- fast and clean. The bat cracked against the ball and sent it flying upward. “Fuck.” He mumbled, knowing that pop-up would mean an easy out. The next hit was the same.

Without his uniform to cloak him, she noted how much more powerful his arms looked as he swung, the sheer power and force that ended in them, but began as he twisted at the middle, the v of his abs dipping into his pants, and moved upward to his broad chest; Each grouping of muscles working in tandem to make the motion fluid. So it wasn’t just his arms. It was all of him, really- powerful. He did have some scrawny legs though, but they still managed to look great on game days, in a pair of calf-length pants and tight black socks. She’d always preferred the vintage look of the knickers, as opposed to the full-on pants that ninety percent of the guys wore these days.

“No pointers for me?” he said, a bit frustrated. She thought his swing looked good. It  _looked really good_ , but she hadn’t even been paying attention to where the ball went after it was met with the force of the bat.

“What kind of pointers?” She said, moving a few steps to her right, so she could watch the kinesio tape and make sure it was situated properly on his skin. “Like batting tips?”

“Yeah.” He barely got out before clenching his jaw and swinging- a miss.

“I’m not a batting coach, either.” She said. “Step off a second.” The pitching machine continued to lob balls over the plate, and Niall shuffled over to her, bat balanced over his shoulder. She smoothed down the tape where it had begun to pucker, and Niall loved how small her hands looked as they wrapped around his bicep and pushed it upward, until his elbow reached up over his head.

 She lightly gripped his wrist and pulled downward, slowly, keeping a hand at the topside of his arm to prevent it from bending backward, wanting the pull to be in his shoulder. He groaned and she smiled from her spot behind him and urged “Breathe through it.” A ten count was enough, and she let his arm go back to hanging at his side. “Take a couple swings.”

“Here?” he asked, and she nodded, stepping back to observe.

“I don’t give a shit about the ball.” She said.

“Well, you’re alone in that, I think.” He said, bending his knees and lifting the bat. “The game’s called base _ball_ , and I sort of need to hit  _the ball_.”

“Not a batting coach.” She repeated and he took a swing. What she really wanted to say is  _I don’t give a shit about the ball, but I think I might give a shit or two about you._

—

Niall walked back from the mound and took a swig of water, eyeing the clipboard which hung on a nail on the wall and counting backward from his name on the list- Horan, Malik, Payne and Tomlinson leading off.  Three batters ahead of him, and the odds were pretty good he’d be taking the plate. He tried not to think too much about the score, and what it could come down to if the one or more of them got on-base. Tommo struck out in six, handing his bat to the boy on his stool before slumping down on the bench with his head in his hands.

“Let him swing.” Jenna called over his shoulder at the pitcher who surely couldn’t hear her. Niall wasn’t surprised they were going to walk Payne, he hit a homer in the fifth, and was still riding that high. Four times the pitcher stepped off to the side of the mound and tossed the ball so wide it couldn’t be possibly considered good by even the laziest and shittiest of umpires. Payne-o dropped his bat and his helmet, and jogged the length to first base, tucking his gloves into his back pocket and resting his hands upon his knees as Malik got to the plate. Niall stood in the circle, staying loose with a couple of swings, and stretching the bat over his back.

The first pitch was a strike, and Malik spit a wad into the dirt scuffed around it with his toe. Niall watched the Coach’s face, which per usual registered no emotion as the count changed to 1:1.  _Come on, Zayn._  He muttered to himself.

They needed two runs to push them into extra innings, but three would end the game. Of course everyone would be happy to not lose it this inning, but of they _wanted_  that third run. They wanted it done, a mark in the win column.

Jenna let out her breath as Zayn’s bat made contact with the ball, a line-drive. The second baseman dove for it, but only clipped the ball with his mitt, sending it rogue into the outfield, bouncing. Liam pumped his arms and legs and rounded second just as the baseman got to his feet, the coach waving him on to third. Zayn slid into second just in time, the crowd erupting as the umpire threw his hands out and called him “safe”.

“Hey.” Jenna leaned over the railing. “Niall.”

She used his first name, and it sounded so strange to his ears, even though it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. He didn’t turn, in hopes she’d say it again.

“Niall.”

“Yeah?”

Jenna knew if she didn’t say what she’d been thinking now, right now, he’d soon be well out of earshot and entirely on his own at the plate. And she’d have to watch, like she did every time he was at bat, as his body went through the motions. “Don’t tense when the ball’s thrown.” She said, turning her back to him and pointing out the spot to which she was referring. “And mind your toes.”

She expected him to quip once again about her giving advice outside her job description, but instead he just nodded, and tightened the Velcro on his gloves before heading to the plate.

The first pitch was a ball, low and inside, an old trick Niall himself would have pulled if it were him on the mound right now, trying rile him up. It wouldn’t work. He held the bat high at first and brought it down as the pitcher nodded to the catcher and wound the ball back. Niall kept his knees bent, and took a breath, focusing on three things: the ball, his bat and that spot that Jenna had pointed to, pushing his breath there like he’d done so many times beneath her hands.

_Swing._  He thought, judging the pitch. His bat made contact and it felt like a good hit, but he wasn’t watching the ball now, his thighs burning as he shot off toward first, the bat clanging against the dirt where he dropped it. The coaches were waving wildly, and by the timing of it, he had to assume that Payne had crossed home by now.

Somehow the ball hit the ground just perfectly, between the second baseman and the right fielder, and it rolled as both ran up to it. Jenna’s fists were tight at her sides and she could hear her heart beating as Liam made it home, and Zayn rounded third.  _Go, go, go._  She chanted silently, and the base coach waved him on.

Niall knew now more than ever that it was up to him. They wouldn’t be losing in this inning, Zayn heading for home. His foot pounded third and he widened his stride, arms pumping at his sides as the white line lit up in his brain like an arrow. He didn’t look back, but he knew the ball must be in the infield by now, unless there had been some butterfinger business. And he wasn’t going to be lucky enough to have butterfinger business. He didn’t even want it, actually. He wanted to earn this run, fair and square. Start-to-finish, this one was Horan.

Payne was waving his arms up and down, which was really stating the obvious at this point; Niall was going to have to slide. He knew it would be easier on his shoulder to go in feet first, but he didn’t want to risk it; it was going to come down to the wire. He extended his arms and kicked his feet backwards, his chest hitting the dirt a second later, fingertips reaching for the white just as the ball hit the catcher’s mitt. He couldn’t see the call with the dust in the air and in his eyes, but judging by the sound of the fans and the hands that reached to pull him up and litter his back with slaps and pats, he’d been successful.  _Safe._

—

Niall took his time in getting cleaned up, the skin on his chest raw and sore under the steam of the shower, as he stood there and just, well, stood. He was high. At least it felt that way, having performed under pressure, and at bat even. The locker room cleared out quickly, most of the guys wanting to head home to their families before we came back here bright and early to hit the road for the next two games.  Niall, on the other hand, had no plans for the evening.

Well, he hadn’t until he got to standing there, thinking. The light was on in her office, the frosted glass glowing an almost-green.  And he turned the taps off, running the white towel over his hair and then wrapping it around his waist.

_Delete. Reply: Yes, I will be attending., Delete._  She scrolled through her emails, wanting to be as caught up as possible before heading home for the night. It had been a long day, but she was looking forward to her first stretch of away games, even arranging to meet up with some old college friends, all of them spread around in different cities across the map. It was going to be fun.

She heard her name filter in through the doorway, her assumption that she was all alone obviously incorrect, and took her ID badge from around her neck and tucked it into her purse before heading out to see who needed what.

He sat in the folding chair in front of his set of lockers, an embroidered flag donning his name and player number hung on the wall just above. Jenna didn’t like the way he was hunched over, his hand reaching backwards and rubbing his neck, and from where she stood it looked like he was pressing his fingertips against his C6. She tucked her pen into her ponytail. “What’s wrong?” she said, placing her palm against his back and nudging his hand out of the way. “Sit up.”

As he did, he reached for her hand ,taking her gently by the wrist and she moved with it, until she was standing before him. He’d gone against his better judgment and pulled on a pair of boxers instead of sitting here in his towel, like he was sure would be done in the movies. Jenna knew by his coy smile that his neck wasn’t in pain, and that he had just appealed to her caretaking-nature.

It was quite rude, actually.

But the chastising was halted behind her lips as she laid eyes on his chest, and picked up his hands from his lap, turning them over to reveal the same ragged welts on the underside of his forearms and elbows. “Just had to go head first, huh Horan?” She said.

“Couldn’t risk it.” He muttered, getting to his feet.

“You’re gonna feel that in your shoulder tomorrow.” She warned. “Take some ibuprofen before bed.” He nodded that he would, and he most likely meant it. Unless he forgot. Or unless he was otherwise occupied. He took a step toward her. “For the inflammation.” She added, a little disoriented by how close he was to her.

And quiet.

“You were right about my batting.” Niall said softly, not needing much volume considering she was right there.  _Right there._  “I tense at the last second.” She didn’t know quite how to respond. If she would have said “yeah” or “I know” or something to that effect, it might come off as arrogant, and she didn’t want to feign surprise, because, well, she wasn’t surprised.

 So she just made a noise.  _Hrhmm._

“You look tense now.” He hated the words after he said them, having to concentrate not to let his eyes roll back in his head at the cheesiness of the line. _Smooth, Horan,_ he thought.

“Long day.” She said, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet. Niall couldn’t decide if she was uncomfortable by his closeness, or if she was just nervous. He hoped she was nervous, because nervous was good. Better than appalled, that’s for sure.

Jenna definitely wasn’t appalled. She was taking in the scent of the body wash that clung to his clean skin, and trying not to stare at the blonde hair on his upper thighs. Really, she had nowhere to look. She had to keep her eyes on his face. But not even just on his face because then she found herself looking at his lips, and she couldn’t be looking at his lips because they were pink and plump and she knew they’d be soft. And his eyes were the kind of blue you could drown in, lungful after lungful and not even care. Not one bit. Until you were a goner.

So it was his forehead she looked at as he spoke. The very center. No  _feelings_ there.

He wanted to ask permission, but he knew if he did then  _that_ would be the thing that she’d remember about it; the words. And he wasn’t much of a words guy. So, he just went for it, taking her cheeks into his hands and pressing his lips to hers. She was sweet, and warm, and it made him part his lips a bit to take her in more.  She was kissing him back, too, which, you know, was good.

She even went up on her toes a bit as he pulled back, delaying the disconnect by about point five seconds. Then they were left there, to sort out what had just happened, both of them red in the face. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Niall finally blurted. She didn’t question that, or attempt to compare her notes on the subject, instead reaching her fingers through his hair.

“I want to do it again.” She said, tugging him downward and kissing him again, and it felt the same but entirely different, her lips skimming across his soft at first, and then more fervently, parting and pressing, and his hands fell to her hips, pushing up on her polo shirt just enough to where he could feel her warm skin. He just wanted to be close.

“Your office.” He said as he took a breath, and gripped her tiny hand for the fifteen steps until they were alone in the small room. Sure, they’d been here before, plenty; This morning, even. But now things were different, finally having crossed that line in the sand. He was on her lips again, and she whimpered without control as he bent to grip the backs of her thighs and placed her up on that cold metal table. This is the point at which it would have been appropriate for him to remove his shirt, and maybe even for her to help him in doing so. But, of course, he was only wearing his boxers, so the system was all out of order. Did they just keep kissing?

What was even going on here?

Jenna became fixated on the fact that she was fully clothed, and thought that was probably weird, so she lifted the hem of her shirt, but he stopped her, his hands dropping to either side of her thighs on the table, his chin giving way into his chest.

“What are we doing?” he muttered.

 Her fucking stomach sank. They’d done it now, and you can’t go back from a kiss like that; a handful of kisses like that. Why didn’t he think of this the whole time he allegedly wanted to kiss her? Instead of having a moment now, when it was too late?

Niall noticed the look on her face and realized his poor choice in words. So he corrected them with a single, long, weighted kiss to her lips and said “I just…”

“Too fast?” she said.

“Yes.” He replied. “I mean, no. No. Not too fast. This should have happened ages ago, just like this.” The words were jumbled and ridiculous, but Jenna did her best to follow along. “But.”

“But you want to stop now.” She thought she knew what he was trying to say, but she really couldn’t be sure because everything that came out of his mouth had to compete with the ringing in her ears and the sensation that her feet might have gone missing, because she can’t feel anything below her knees.

“I want to stop  _here.”_ He said. Despite every muscle in his body saying  _GO_  there had been a moment where that tiny part of his brain held up a sign that said  _wait_. Maybe he should ask her on a proper date, pick her up at eight o’clock, hold the door of the car-which obviously he would have to rid of any offending fast-food containers and junk mail that seems to duplicate when the sun sets. He probably should pay for her to have a good meal, and compliment her on something other than her looks, because despite the fact that she was beautiful, there were about a thousand other things about her that were worthy of praise. Thousand and one if you included her interest in him, because clearly she had excellent taste.

Oh god, her taste.

His hands slipped once again to her hips, but this time he slid her to the edge of that awful metal table and eased her gently to the ground. She was a little, tiny bit embarrassed, and she wanted to hide her face, preferably in his chest. Something told her, however, that her lips would be drawn to his skin and then they’d be right back at it. His hesitancy made sense, something to do with the setting and the circumstance.

“I should finish up here then.” Jenna said, breaking the silence. “Clearing out my inbox.”

“Can I walk you to your car when you’re done?” She looked at him standing there, clearly not ready to step foot out of the locker room let alone the building. “I’ll get dressed and walk you out?” he had caught her. She nodded and he tugged open her door, backing out, a small smile on his face.

Jenna’s eyes were on the computer screen, but her brain was elsewhere. Her body too.

They were back to almost-normal, five minutes later when she flipped the light switch and slung her bag across her chest, Niall holding the metal door with his foot as she passed through. He was yammering on about one of the managers, in his typical fashion, and she threw in her two-cents when she had it.  Niall walked slower than he normally would, not only because he wasn’t quite ready to part ways, but he was dreading that moment when she’d reach for her car keys and unlock her door. He’d have to say something then.  _God, Horan. Don’t be awkward._

If only there were some agreed upon protocol here. Wisely, Jenna was going to let him take the lead on this one. After all, she would have been quite content to still be tucked away in her tiny office, figuring things out as they went along. Is that reckless?

Or stupid?

She fished for her keys as her car came into view, fumbling at the bottom of her bag. Gum wrappers, hair ties, approximately nine pens, but no keys. “Shit.” She mumbled, lifting the bag off her shoulder and dropping it to the hood of her car with a  _thunk_.

“Leave them inside?” Niall asked, grateful for the delay. She shrugged and ran her hands along her pants, checking the pockets. Front first, and then along the back. Niall of course knew there were no keys in those pockets, as it was only a few minutes ago that his own hungry hands had cleared the area. “I’ll run back in with you.”

That would be the best and also the worst idea. They both knew it, locked eyes and acknowledged it, even. So it was fortunate that she checked the front pocket again, her key ring now jingling where she had it hooked around her middle finger.

“Good game, today.” She was doing him a  _real_ favor, throwing him a freaking bone. He didn’t say thanks, or brush off the compliment, instead, reaching for her free hand and dragging his fingertips along the inside of her palm.

She certainly felt it.

“See you on the road.” He smiled, shoving his hands in his pocket and taking off toward the players’ lot.

He turned around twice. 

\--

The out-of-town jaunt was a whirlwind, as usual. The players weren’t typically interested in spending any extra time in away cities. Only the new recruits had the itch to go exploring; and Jenna, because, well technically she was a new-ish recruit, having been hired on during the playoffs last season. She’d already seen a fair number of ballparks, and their associated cities, but there was always more to see and do. Using her free time to the fullest, she went on a walking tour, grabbed authentic local grub with a few of the other training staff, and hit some of the shops before pulling on her polo and heading back to work.

Malik stood up and dusted the grass from his pants. Niall had timed it just right, casually half-jogging to the little patch of green before someone else decided they needed a good stretch. “Hi.” He said.

“Oh, hey.” She replied.  There was a pause there, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The opposite actually. “Anything bothering you?”

_Yeah, your fucking lips are bothering me,_ he thought. “Hamstring.” He said, which was a half-lie, because, yeah, it was a little tight, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t manage to stretch out on his own.

“Not the shoulder?”

“Oh, always the shoulder.” He said, which wasn’t a lie at all. Bless her for thinking of another way he could get her hands on him.

“Hopefully not always.” She quipped, and she went to work on him. It was business as usual, except with a lot more eye contact.

A lot more.

Niall only pitched one game, hanging out in the dugout for the second one, uniform on and ready to go, even though everyone knew the chances of that being necessary were slim. He’d been performing well, but it was wise not to push it; the first week of the season not exactly the time to be shuffled over to the injured list.

The chartered bus ride from the airport to the stadium to retrieve their cars provided an opportunity. He plunked down in the seat next to her, but she didn’t even notice, earbuds in, and her eyes focused on the pages of her book. How she could read  _and_  listen to music, he didn’t know. But she wasn’t actually listening to music, just had them pressed in to muffle noise, and to deter any people who wanted to sit down beside her and chit chat. She wasn’t in the mood for chit chat.

A bump of his elbow against her arm snapped her away from her book. Suddenly, she was in the mood for chit chat, pulling the cord away from her ears and setting them atop the book in her lap.

“How can you listen to music and read at the same time?” he said, curious.

“Magic.” She replied. He knew it, she was an actual wizard. Wizardess?

“Hmm. Would you like to come over later?” he got right to the point.

“A house call?” she asked, pretty sure it wasn’t, because she’d never been to his house before, and he hadn’t even played today.

“Something like that.” He said. “A house call with wine.”

—

She stood on the porch and took a breath before pressing her finger to the buzzer, listening as the chime echoed through his enormous house. She wanted to make it seem like she had come over as soon as was possible, when in reality she had showered, shaved, put on three outfits, brushed her teeth, tamed her hair, and then sat on the very edge of her couch for forty-five minutes, watching the hand of the clock circle slowly before she finally scooped her keys up from the table and walked out the door.

Niall had a good long while to over-analyze the series of events. He invites her to his house instead of asking her on a proper date, to which she should have said something like  _go fuck yourself_ , but she didn’t. So, he guesses that means she’s as easy-going as he thought. Or maybe she’d show up in that polo shirt with her bag of wraps and tape, poised and professional.

He pulled open the door and she realized this was the first time she’d ever seen him in jeans. Around the “office” he was either in uniform, or in sweats. He was thinking the same thing about her, except not about her jeans, but her hair. It was out of its elastic tie, soft and wavy over her shoulders, just begging for him to push his fingertips through.

“Hi.” They said in unison. “Come in.” he filled the awkward beat.

She stepped past him, the falls of her feet echoing on the empty walls of his house. Boxes were stacked randomly, a pile in the corner, and one along the half wall that separated the main area from the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?” she asked rhetorically. It had been months and months.

“Yeah.” He said. “Once I got all of the necessities unpacked, I sort of lost interest in the rest.” She wasn’t really sure what could be left in those boxes then, and knew if he had gone this long without it, that it could probably stand to be donated and thrown out. But she wasn’t here to provide organizational services. “Red or White?”

“Whatever you’re having.” She said, shrugging out of her light jacket and draping it across the edge of the couch. It was the right answer, the perfect answer. It meant that she was no-fuss, and also that she trusted his judgment. Niall wasn’t necessarily the old-fashioned type, but there was something about her deferring to him that made him feel something somewhere in his bellybutton region.

He placed the glasses on the coffee table, and they sat on his brand-new and perfectly arranged living room set. He knew it was perfect because he’d snapped a photo of how it was laid out on display in the store, and insisted that the guys that showed up to deliver it place it just-so. He’d mounted the enormous television over the fireplace on his own, which he was desperate to brag about, but didn’t. Besides, he shouldn’t boast too much, after all these were the only two wine glasses he owned, and he’d drunk milk out of one of them just before she showed up.

 Jenna waivered on whether or not to talk work, ask him about his pain level, and depending on his response, happily root around in the trunk of her car for a heat wrap. So, she waited to see if he would bring it up. The house call business was just pretext, right? Pretext.

_Chill._

Silently, she reminds herself that he had kissed her just a few days ago. As if she needed the reminder and she hadn’t already replayed it approximately thirty-two times. Thirty-three now. His warm hands, his warm lips, his warm skin. That night, she’d had a tough time resisting the urge to snap the shower head from its clip and hold it between her legs when the fifth replay went down, shampoo dripping from her hair. She’d thought about him  _that way_  before, it was true, but cut herself off as soon as she felt the blood start to flow downward.

Now, the switch has been flipped, and she was getting flush after only one sip of wine, watching the way he traced the rim of the glass with his middle finger. He was turned toward her on the sofa, and she mimicked this position, bending her knee and tucking her leg beneath her thigh.

The way her mouth formed words was occupying a good chunk of his attention. She scrunched her lips together and up when she took a moment to form her thoughts, and sometimes, okay twice, she licked her lips after she sipped, and he thought he might implode.

It was a mystery how they managed to carry on a conversation for the better part of half an hour. But then, as if some voodoo magic was at play, they both set their nearly-empty glasses back on the table. Or maybe it was just a fortunate coincidence.

The clang of the glasses reverberated in the air which was thick with tension.

And before all was quiet, they were on one another, closing the gap in the cushions.

Niall stops thinking, and probably breathing, for a second. It was long enough for him to pull her into his lap, and she slipped her knees tight around him, sitting back against the tops of his thighs. He hums her name into her neck, and she shivers, never having heard it from his lips at that octave and he doesn’t hesitate in reaching through her thick hair and gripping the back of her head, his lips parting to receive her. She kissed like it was her first time, and also her last time, with a hundred years of top-quality, grade A, heart-skipping kisses in between. It was desperate, and yet easy and just a little bit slow.

She was good.

He kissed like he pitched, methodical and precise, reading her body and responding, darting his tongue over hers and breathing deep. The blood in his eardrums made everything silent, just like it did so often on the mound. She lifted her tshirt over her head and let it fall, Niall immediately placing wet kisses to the tops of her breasts where her purple bra left them exposed.

“My God.” He muttered, his hands wild over her stomach, and the curve of her spine, the waistband of her jeans just barely keeping her ass out his reach. Making out and grinding on the couch was fun, but sort of like the locker room, it felt somehow  _less_  than what he wanted, and what he knew she deserved. So, he stood up, and she wrapped her legs around him with a gasp. He would have said something like  _I’ve got you_  but he couldn’t fathom repossessing his lips. So, he slid one arm under her ass for support and headed for his bedroom.

Soon they were only underwear-clad, and Jenna never got tired of seeing his skin. Niall was taking hers in for the first time, and he’d quite like to touch every inch of it; with his fingers and otherwise. He couldn’t stop staring as she stood before him, that witch of a woman, he was simply transfixed.

“Are you nervous?” he said. She sat down at the edge of the bed and scooted herself toward the center, drawing her legs up over the sheets.

“Only just now.” She said. “Because I remembered that you’re…you know.”

He knew what she meant, but he hated the word  _famous_  so he was glad that she didn’t say it. “Hey.” He sat down beside her and pulled the strap of her bra over her perfect shoulder, and kissed it just there. “It’s just me.”

Along the scrapes at his chest, she ran her fingers, finding them irresistible. Sort of like every time he walked into the dugout with dirt across the ass of his white knickers, and she wanted to reach out and brush her hand along the fabric, feel the grit.  “Does that hurt?” she said quietly. He shook his head no, and it was the truth, the welts having almost faded, which was a bit of a shame. He liked the look of them, and now he was thinking about what a couple of small marks might look like on her skin- like on her collar bones, or at her hips.

“You’re really good to me, you know?” Niall said, slipping the second strap down her shoulder.

“I haven’t even done anything yet.” She laughed, speaking before she thought. That wasn’t what he meant. She lifted herself from the mattress enough for him to work his hand behind her pinch the clasp of her bra, finally lifting it from her skin completely. She was modest in size, but it was more than enough for him, her pink nipples standing erect from the pale skin around them. He managed to pick one to roll between his lips, flicking the very tip of it with his tongue.

“Let me take care of you.” He said. It wasn’t a question. And of course she didn’t protest because fucking hell he was kissing down her stomach now, letting his upper lip drag a wet trail across her skin, and what was she going to say to him? No? No  _thank you?_

Yeah, right.

Niall stopped at the band of her patterned panties to look up at her propped up on her elbows, watching wide-eyed. He lifted her leg gracefully and ducked underneath it, positioning himself between her bent knees. The skin at the inside of her thighs was soft, he confirmed, with a quick brush of his chin against it.

How could he have known, how crazy it got her to feel ragged breath through the fabric of her underwewar? That somehow what would seem like a barrier would, in fact, heighten her awareness of his mouth upon her? He didn’t actually know that until just now, when her elbows shot out from under her and she fell backwards, flat against the mattress when his lips met cotton.

So, he lingered there awhile, nipping and grazing the fabric until it was moist from the heat of his breath and her hips began to rise to greet him. He could easily just shove the fabric aside, and she wanted him to, but he wanted nothing in his way when he first laid eyes upon her center, followed closely with by his fingers and his mouth.

They came off in a single-motion, and Jenna held her knees together until he’d cast them to the floor where the rest of their clothing littered the carpet. “I want to touch you.” She breathed, but he shushed her, urging her knees apart with a gentle shove, and revealed her. Her lips were as flush as her cheeks, and he took his time in separating the folds, running his calloused thumb over her clit. “Oh.” She whimpered, and Niall just drew a bit of the slick that had begun to pool at her entrance upward, and pressed it into that spot again, getting the same reaction.

Back and forth over the length of it, he worked, adjusting the pressure based upon the way her stomach would clench, and the way her heels would stop moving against his sheets.

His fingers were incredible, and the anticipation of him moving one or more past her tight entrance was making her mind race. Every time he’d dip down low wetting his fingers, he’d linger a half-second, her walls clenching and ready, before drawing them back upwards and circling her clit.

He eased her frustration in another way, letting his mouth take up the work his fingers had started, his tongue circling over her aching clit. She was downright writhing now, her chest rising and falling, her face coming into view each time she pushed her breath out.

Finally, he worked his middle finger into her, which wasn’t much effort at all considering how dripping wet she’d become. To be fair, a good portion of that was from Niall; always was a bit of a slob. But he liked things that way, wet and messy. Jenna groaned at the relief of it, and Niall wasted no time in adding a second finger, and curling them both upward, as he fucked her with them, slowly at first, increasing the pace at the rate of her breath.

That familiar feeling crept into the area below her stomach that only really existed in the heat, she was getting close, but she wanted more. It was always that way with coming, though, wasn’t it? Knowing it would feel so good washing over you, but wanting to linger just on the other side of that line for as long as possible.

“Niall.” She slurred. “No, I…I’m.”

“Yeah?” he smiled into her, his tongue tired and aching, but finding new life in her words.

“I don’t want to.” He heard it distinctly, and he pulled back, afraid he’d done something wrong.

“What?”

“I need you inside me.” She managed, which just made his cock twitch. “Don’t make me come yet.”

It killed her to say it, because, fuck, she wanted to come. Now. And he wanted her to, all hot and wet around his fingers. He wanted to feel her clit pulse beneath his stayed tongue, watch as she came unglued.

“Why not both?” he asked, hoping those three words communicated the entirety of _how about I make you come right now, and then you let me try to make you come again, but this time with my cock, because please believe I want to be inside you, right now. Yesterday, in fact._ She looked a little unsure, but to Niall that meant that part of her  _was_ sure, so he pumped his fingers in and out of her, and ignored his aching jaw, only about another twenty seconds going by until she was back at the point of clawing at the sheets and at his hair.

There was no turning back now, and she sucked in a final breath, rogue noises still slipping from her lips. “Oh my god, Niall.” She cried as it hit her, rolling outward and back and then out again. He pressed his mouth against her but stayed still, his fingers still working but  _slowly_ , coaxing it all out of her.

She came  _hard_ , her spasms gripping his fingers and pushing them outward. It was so hot. So fucking hot. He moaned into her when she said his name.  He waited for every lass tremble to subside, and for her hands to leave their grip on his hair and fall back lazily to the mattress.

Her eyes were open, and yet she could not see. Not clearly at least, the perimeter fuzzy like her mind, and buzzing like her center. Niall crawled up next to her on the mattress, tempted to drag his finger along her breasts. It was a good thing he didn’t because her skin was still electric, her orgasm ending up there, where it evaporated into the air slowly.

His dick needed attention, but it could wait, the sight of her breathless and shaking more satisfying than the roar of any crowd he’s ever heard, and more commendation of a job well done than any trophy his mother had lined up on an over-sized bookcase in her basement.

She rolled to her side, bent elbow propping up her head. She sighed and he kissed her softly, and she loved that she could taste herself on him, although she wouldn’t have admitted it aloud if he asked. He sprang back to life as she began to palm him over his boxers, pressing perfectly against the underside of his dick. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to rush to touch him, but soon she was on her knees beside him, her hot breath soaking the black fabric at the tip of his cock, teasing him just the way he had teased her. Her hair was a mess from her squirming against the sheets, and she kept looking up at him, which just made him want her even more, if that was possible. He knew from the look on her face that she was confident, that she knew what she was doing.

Off came his boxers, tugged past his hips and down his legs, his cock slapping upward, free. She stroked him softly, tracing her thumb along the dominant vein, knowing she’d soon repeat the motion with her tongue.

“What happened to  _me_ taking care of  _you_?” he asked, conflicted, wanting to feel her mouth around him. She just smiled, kissed the tip and settled in on her stomach between his legs, her beautiful backside in perfect view over the top of her head. She was right to be confident, he realized as she took him, swirling her tongue and then holding it flat against him as she pulled back, swirling and sucking on the descent back down. Her fingers were occupied, finding that smooth patch at the underside of his balls and toying with it, even scraping her fingernail against it at one point, which earned a satisfying groan.

“You’re so good.” He breathed, but he knew if she didn’t stop soon, he’d be on the fast-track to coming, and he didn’t want that, not yet. He sat upward and reached for her. “Kiss me.”  She happily obliged, her lips pink and swollen from the attention they had given him.

Inside the drawer of the bedside table, he felt around, silently cursing himself for not checking on the status of the situation before she showed up, and silently thanking god when his fingers found that familiar square of plastic with the jagged edges. “Let me.” she said, taking it from him. She tore the corner, and discarded the wrapper on the table before taking his head into her mouth once more, a surprise that sent him flat against the mattress again, toes curling. She took him fully, one languid stroke, before coming back up, leaving him wet with her spit, and rolling the condom down.

Straddling his waist, she took a moment. That moment. She looked down at him the same way he looked up at her, both of their faces displaying their readiness for this to happen. She sat up and pushed her knees back, lining up. Niall was unable to blink as she eased down around him, the tight warmth enveloping him.

He filled her completely, her breath hitching at the feeling. She stayed there, full and wet for him, for a few seconds before rocking her hips against him. This was an utterly perfect situation, her over him, setting the pace. He didn’t really  _know_ how she liked it, although he’d imagined it several ways, his dick in his hand beneath his boxers on the couch. But now he was going to learn, she was going to show him how she wanted him to get her off. And for fucks sake, he was going to  _watch._

Wetting his fingers at his lips, he brought them to her clit, mimicking the rhythm of her hips, her head falling backward. She was so slick around him, soaking him, and the little trick she pulled with the condom made it feel almost as if it weren’t even there.

He had to look away every so often.

Her thighs began to burn as she worked, and she felt a layer of sweat forming at the inside of them where they hugged his hips. He brought his hands to her hips then, helping her keep the pace. Her face was beginning to twist, and her breathing became more erratic, so he didn’t let up, lifting her from him and pressing his hips upward to meet her on the downstroke, filling her to the hilt.

“Careful. Of your shoulder.” She breathed, eyes closed.

With that, he sat upward, and flipped her, her back hitting the mattress before her gasp hit his ears. “Don’t you worry about my  _shoulder._ ” He said, hitching her legs up and leaning down, hitting her deeper than he had before, which sent her clawing at any available skin- his arms taking the brunt of it. Their mouths connected again, sloppy and desperate, more breath than bite. “And you didn’t think you could come again.” He hummed.

“A bit presumptuous.” She choked, although she knew she wasn’t far off. Niall, of course, took that as a challenge, his hands flying to the backs of her knees and pushing her forward a bit, forcing her hips to leave the bed. Jenna couldn’t focus now, the tip of his dick relentless on that place inside her that made her instantly tighten, the repetition of the motion like the chain on the track of a roller coaster, pulling her closer and closer to the peak.

He didn’t waste his recently-acquired knowledge of her body, taking note that she’d gone quiet except for a few squeaks and stifled moans; she was nearly there now, his own orgasm but a few strokes from flooding over. He slowed up, letting her feel his entire length inside her, and holy shit did she  _feel_ it, whimpering. That first twitch, and her deep intake of breath is what he was waiting for; he just let go, pulsing inside her.

She came around him, harder than she had before, her tightness milking him. It was fucking incredible, their mouths never breaking contact, each of them swallowing the other’s breaths and moans, there were words too, but who knows what they were. He stayed right there as the both came down, still inside her now. Her pupils were wide, and he shuddered involuntarily when her fingers twisted in the hair at the sweaty nape of his neck.

Eventually, it was necessary to pull away, and he gingerly tugged off the condom and discarded it. She licked her dry lips and tugged the sheet over her body, which he clambered underneath of, tired and blissful.

It could have been one of those  _now what?_  times, but it wasn’t. Not yet. But, as the high subsided, and their heart rates dropped back to normal, Jenna knew she should sit up, kiss him, and then get dressed. He couldn’t possibly have read her thoughts, and she was pretty sure her face held no clues, but for some reason he blurted “Can you stay? Tonight?”

He hadn’t thought to say the words before they came out, and he only regretted them for a half second before he realized it was exactly what he wanted.  They both knew the standard protocol, and staying the night was a step toward something less casual. The corners of her lips lifted slightly before she forced them back, but it was too late, he’d already seen the subtle movement, and knew she wanted the same as him.

She reached over and turned out the lamp, answer given, and eased in closer to him on the mattress, half her head on the pillow beneath his. He turned toward her, his fingers finding her hips in the dark, and pulled her toward him, gently. He almost said “thank you”, but instead whispered “you’re incredible.” To which she had no other reply than a sigh, and a tiny kiss to his chin.

Would it be different now? Having done this? She assumed probably so, but hoped it would be that good kind of different, the intimate kind of different, like knowing someone in a way that was shared just between the two of you. She didn’t know if this would go anywhere, or complicate things, but for now she was content just to listen to him breathing, and let the sensation of his fingers on her soft skin be the focus.

“Captain Crunch French Toast in the morning?” she murmured.

Which is something, surprisingly, he’d forgotten all about. 

 


End file.
